


I Could Be Lonely With You

by xcourtney_chaoticx



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Bonding, Episode Related, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, s02e16 Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 06:11:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcourtney_chaoticx/pseuds/xcourtney_chaoticx
Summary: A broken shoulder is a little more than Chet bargained on dealing with, and so he needs some help from his friends. When his friends at the station are unavailable, he's got to think outside the box.set after 02x16 'Syndrome'





	I Could Be Lonely With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [its_skadi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_skadi/gifts).



> from a lovely prompt its_skadi sent me on tumblr aaaaaggggeesssss ago. It's finally done! The main request was for Chet and Brice to hang out, and I hope I delivered.
> 
> Warnings: some language, mentioned past drug/alcohol abuse and child abuse/childhood trauma   
> (they are brief and not in depth at all let me know if things need to be tagged better)

“But-… But, Johnny, you promised,” Chet says, trying not to whine and not entirely succeeding.

“ _I know I did, Chet. I’m sorry,_ ” he replies, sounding truly apologetic, “ _I really am. Just… Guess I just forgot. I didn’t mean to, though. Honest._ ”

“Yeah, no, I’m sure ya didn’t, just… Ah, it’s no big deal, Johnny. I’ll get it figured out. Where’s Marco today? Or Mike?”

“ _Uh, Marco’s outta town, went to see his sister or somethin’. Mike picked up a shift at 8s._ ”

“And you and Roy are busy… really don’t wanna call Cap to come babysit me, either,” Chet says, keeping his agitation out of his voice.

“ _Don’t reckon I would, either… Anyways, I really am sorry, Chet. You know how I am sometimes, just forgettin’ stuff when somethin’ new comes up,_ ” Johnny says.

“I do. I’m not mad, Johnny. I’m really not.”

“ _Promise?_ ”

“I promise.”

“ _Okay,_ ” his relief is audible, “ _Hey, you gotta take care of yourself, though, pal. Be sure to call someone._ ”

Annoyance flares briefly in Chet’s chest but he shuts it down. Johnny just is forgetful sometimes. _It’s not his fault._ He just replies, “I will. Thanks, John. See you soon.”

“ _See ya, Chet._ ”

Chet hangs up his phone with a huff, winces, just remembers not to touch his shoulder. It still hurts almost as bad as when he broke it last week, that rubble heap collapsing on him and fracturing his scapula. _Hurts when I sit, when I stand, when I walk… just fuckin’ hurts._ It hurts too much to do a lot of the things he needs to do, so he needs help. That was why he’d called Johnny. If anyone is his best friend, it’s John Gage. He knows the guilt over forgetting his promise will eat at John until he makes it up to Chet, so he’s expecting some food and a full day of quality time coming very soon.

_For now, I need someone to come over today._ Chet runs through a list of people in his head, summarily dismissing each one with increasing agitation. He has plenty of friends to get drinks with, but no one to help him when he’s in need. Then, he gets an idea. It’s a crazy idea, certainly, but there is one person he could call who has even less friends than he does and probably isn’t doing anything. _I’ll feel like a damn fool if he won’t come, though._ It’s all he has, so he slowly retrieves the phone book and looks up the number, dialing equally slowly.

“ _Hello, this is Craig Brice._ ”

“Um, hi Brice. It’s Chet Kelly.”

“ _Kelly? Why are you calling me?_ ”

From anyone else, the question would be rude, and Brice seems to realize belatedly it could sound that way, sighs, says, “ _I’m sorry, Kelly. I didn’t mean it like that._ ”

“No, I know you didn’t. It’s all good. Not like I call ya all the time or nothin’… I, uh… I called today ‘cause- well… I need some help.”

“ _Help?_ ”

“You might not ‘a heard, but I broke my shoulder last week,” Chet says.

“ _Yes, I did hear that. News travels fast through the department. How are you?_ ”

His question is earnest, and Chet easily replies, “I’ve been worse, but I’ve certainly been better. Shoulder hurts… and I’m havin’ trouble doin’ a lotta things.”

“ _You’re not getting help from your shift?_ ” Brice asks, and there’s a hint of indignation in his voice that makes Chet happy.

“No, I have been, but it just worked out today that no one could come over,” he half-lies, “I was hoping maybe you’d be able to help me out, if you’re not doing anything else, of course.”

“ _Of course I’ll help,_ ” Brice tells him, “ _I would be happy to. Whatever you need._ ”

“Rea-Really? You mean it?”

“ _Yes. Whatever you need, Kelly._ ”

Chet quickly gives Brice his address and is assured Brice will be there within the half-hour. If he timed it, he’d know Brice arrived in twenty-three minutes. Chet is half-startled when he answers the door. Brice is wearing a t-shirt and jeans and sneakers, looks so absurdly normal Chet almost doesn’t recognize him.

“Hey man, c’mon in,” Chet says after a moment, “Thanks for comin’ over.”

“Of course. As I said, I’m happy to help. I would hope you would do the same for me.”

“I would. Even though I like to give ya a hard time, I’d help. We all would.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Brice’s face and he asks, “What do you need, Kelly?”

“S’pose laundry is the first thing that needs to be done. Units are in the basement of the building. I have quarters,” Chet replies, “Everything can go in together.”

“You really should sort it all out.”

“Who’s got the time? I just wash it all on cold.”

Brice shakes his head, still smiling faintly as Chet shows him to the laundry basket and hands off his key and a couple quarters. Whatever his own qualms, Brice seems to take Chet’s washing advice judging by how quickly he returns to the apartment, saying, “I’ll go back down in an hour to change it over. Do you need anything else?”

“Not just now, I guess… nothin’ but a ‘lil company,” Chet replies.

“I’ve often been told I’m poor company.”

“Well, so have I.”

“I don’t believe that, Kelly,” Brice says, “You’re always the center of attention, always getting people to laugh.”

“Only when they wanna laugh. Sometimes- well, a lotta the time, I end up rubbin’ people the wrong way. Even done it to Johnny a few times, got his feathers all ruffled. I’m not actually too popular, but it’s- _ow!_ Dammit!”

Forgetting his injury, he’d tried to shrug, pain bursting through his damaged shoulder. Brice comes to his side in an instant.

“Are you alright, Kelly? Do you need your painkillers?”

“No,” Chet tells him through gritted teeth, “No, I don’t touch ‘em. Can’t.”

“Why not?”

As soon as Brice asks the question, Chet realized he said too much, but if Brice came over to help, he supposes he deserves to know.

“Got, uh… got problems in my family… problems with drugs, with alcohol… don’t wanna get tempted, y’know?” he explains.

Brice’s pale eyes are wide. _I usually keep that a secret._ It’s certainly nothing to be proud of that he comes from a line of addicts and alcoholics, but he is proud to have overcome it. Brice reaches out, slim fingers hesitating before his hand settles on Chet’s uninjured shoulder, gripping gently.

“I understand, Chet.”

The use of his first name startles Chet. Brice never uses first names, let alone nicknames. He uses Chet’s surprise to continue, “It seems you and I aren’t so different.”

“You got family problems like that, too?”

“Why do you think I’m here in Los Angeles with no family? They’re all back in Florida and I prefer it that way. They don’t like me. I don’t like them. My father was a violent alcoholic and my mother meek and submissive. My older siblings took their rage out on me, so in addition to my father, I had to deal with their violence.”

“That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I know.”

He says it like they’re talking about the weather and not childhood trauma, but Chet understands. _It’s just like that sometimes… ya gotta put it all behind ya and move on._ Making it into something to laugh about or ignore is the only way to handle it. The two men share a long look, a moment of shared experiences, bringing them closer together. Chet speaks up, “You’re a good dude, Craig, you know that?”

Brice’s lips quirk into a small smile as he replies, “I know.”

There’s a warmth blooming in Chet’s chest, making him feel happy and light. Another moment passes before Brice says, “Have you eaten yet, Kelly?”

 

“If ya count the bowl of cereal I had, then yeah. Do you want somethin’ particular?” he asks, “I owe ya for comin’ over to help me out, so if ya want pizza or somethin’, get whatever ya want and I’ll pay for it.”

“But you’re not working-“

“I’m on sick leave. I’m gettin’ some money. Besides, like I said, I owe ya for helpin’ me out.”

“Laundry isn’t that intensive.”

“Then I’ll find more for ya to do,” Chet smirks.

Brice returns it, “I’m sure you will.”

They order pizza, reasoning that Chet can eat it with one hand, and while they wait for the food, Brice goes down to change over the laundry.

“When did you join the department, Kelly?” Brice asks over their pizza.

“In late ’68. I got my honorable discharge from the Army earlier that year-“

“Discharge?”

“Yeah, I was in the Army Corps of Engineers, help build bridges and shit over in ‘Nam-“

“You were in Vietnam?”

Brice has stopped mid-bite, shock all over his face, and Chet replies, “Yup. I was there for about… nine months. Got the discharge ‘cause my brother died and I had to come take care of my mother.”

“Did your brother die from drugs?”

“Yeah… yeah, my father drank himself to death. Charlie died from a bad mix of alcohol and downers. Then my mother had a stroke from prolonged amphetamine abuse… so that wasn’t a great year for me. I didn’t handle it well, either,” Chet says, looks to Brice, sees the question in his eyes, “Yeah, Brice, I started doin’ the same shit.”

“What made you stop? What made you want to stop?”

“Woke up one day feelin’ like shit and realized I threw up all over myself, realized I coulda died… realized I didn’t wanna die like that and just stopped. It was hard, and I’m not perfect. I still get to drinkin’ sometimes. I’m not proud of it, not by a long shot, but I’m still here.”

“I’m glad you are. I’m glad you’re here, and I’m glad you’re better.”

The earnestness is back in his voice and it sets a lump in Chet’s throat. He quietly thanks Brice, takes another bite of pizza, asks, “Don’t suppose you’ve ever done anything like that, huh?”

“I’m afraid I’m fairly boring.”

“C’mon, nothin’ you’re not proud of?”

Brice regards him for a moment before telling him firmly, “You must swear to keep this a secret. You can’t tell anyone.”

“I promise, Craig.”

He hopes the use of his first name will assure Brice of his seriousness.

“I was bullied all throughout school, relentlessly. Nothing made them stop, so I just… just put up with it. I did run cross-country, though, along with one of my bullies. One day, during a meet, he had an asthma attack… a bad one, and-…” he pauses, wets his lips, says very seriously, “I absolutely considered not getting him help.”

“You were gonna let him die?”

“I considered it. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I did, so I went for help. I got a special award from the school… but I still got bullied.”

“Some people just aren’t grateful.”

“He did stop bullying me quite as bad. Somehow, I think he knew my thought process, and he knew he was lucky I didn’t want that on my conscience.”

“I must say, I didn’t think you had it in ya, babe. Nice to know you can still surprise me,” Chet tells him, “Y’know, I don’t think any less of you, Craig.”

His silvery eyes lock onto Chet’s, his expression unreadable for a moment before his face breaks into a small smile. He mutters, “Thank you,” and bites into his pizza. The quiet that falls over them is easy, as if they’ve known each other forever, and something shifts comfortably in Chet’s chest. _This feels good… feels right._ It’s rare for Chet to feel this level of comfort with someone, and to have it with Brice is crazy to think about. _But I’m not complaining._

After a couple slices each, Brice carefully puts the leftovers in the fridge and washes the plates. The laundry is done by then, so Brice goes to get it, bringing it back up to the apartment to fold. They go into the bedroom. Chet sits on the bed while Brice stands, both offering good-natured ribbing over the best way to fold clothes, each believing he’s right.

“Why don’t you fold them, then?” Brice teases, “Let’s see how well you do.”

“With one hand? That’d be downright mean of ya, babe.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“What?”

“Babe.”

“I call everyone babe.”

“Not everyone,” Brice says, folding a t-shirt, “You call Gage and DeSoto that, and Lopez and Stoker… a few of the other firemen and paramedics. Not everyone.”

Chet almost shrugs, remembers to use only his good shoulder, tells Brice, “Guess I only use it with people I like.”

He supposes it’s the truth. He’s never thought too deeply about it before. It’s just another word he uses with his friends. It seems to make Brice happy, though, a soft smile settling on his face, one that makes him look young and relaxed. _We’re the same age. I keep forgetting that._ He’s always so staid and sober. It’s good to see him soft. It’s good to see him smile.

Brice finishes the laundry and puts it away where Chet directs him before asking, “What else do you need done, Kelly?”

“Nothin’ I can think of… You’re welcome to stay, though.”

“I’m sure I can find something to help you with.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I know… I just prefer to keep busy, to keep myself occupied,” Brice says, “It keeps my mind focused and steady.”

“I can dig that, babe.”

So Brice just goes about tidying up Chet’s apartment, the two of them having easy conversation. _I shoulda given him a chance a lot sooner. He’s a good guy._ They get along surprisingly well, have many of the same interests and likes. It’s nice. Brice stays well into the evening, when they eat their reheated pizza and put on the baseball game.

“How are you doing on your own with your shoulder?” Brice finally asks, “I know things are difficult with one arm, but are there any other tasks you need help with? I’m more than happy to offer my assistance… for whatever you need.”

“I mean, I’m doin’ okay. If you wanna know the truth, I could use a shower. Only problem is that I can’t get my cast wet… which is annoying ‘cause it’s my whole shoulder,” Chet answers, “If it was just my arm, I could wrap it in a trash bag. Can’t exactly wrap my shoulder in a trash bag.”

“Yes, that would be rather difficult. Is there any way for someone to help?”

“If someone wanted to give me a sponge bath, then yeah,” Chet says, “but I’m still tryin’ to figure out how to bribe Johnny or Marco or Mike to help me.”

Brice frowns, his brow knit, saying, “You shouldn’t have to bribe them to help.”

“I don’t mean it like that, Brice. They’ll help me for nothin’, but it’s always polite to offer somethin’ anyway.”

Brice is still frowning, like he doesn’t understand. Chet just doesn’t understand how to better explain it. It’s just proper to offer a friend something if they help you. Looking over, he sees Brice’s cheeks flushed with color, his hands fidgeting in his lap. A moment passes, and Brice murmurs, “You wouldn’t have to bribe me to help.”

“Hey, I like you already. You don’t have to offer me all kinds of help to make me like you… if that’s what this is,” Chet replies, “And I’m not gonna take advantage of you bein’ nice.”

“I-… I know… but I’m willing to help you. Just- If it were me, I would hope that someone would be willing to help me. Does that make sense?”

Chet regards his strange companion. The look on Brice’s face begs for understanding, for the promise of friendship, for relief from loneliness. Something begins to ache sharply in his chest. _He’s so alone… and he doesn’t wanna feel that way or have anyone else feel that way._ If he had use of both his arms, he’d pull Brice into a hug. All he can do for now is tell him, “I understand you, Craig.”

Silvery eyes immediately fill with tears. Brice blinks rapidly to force them away, but Chet sees, though he doesn’t comment on it. Still, he wants to defuse the situation.

“Say, you’re not tryin’ to take advantage of me, are ya, Brice?” he jokes.

“Take advantage?”

“Yeah, y’know… tryin’ to get me at your mercy? Have your way with me?”

“No, Kelly, I won’t be trying to ‘have my way’ with you,” he replies.

“Sometimes, Brice, I think you just play dumb when you say stuff like that, sayin’ you don’t know what stuff like that means.”

“You may think anything you like,” Brice smirks.

The tension is broken, the mood light once again. _It’ll probably get awkward again soon enough, but whatever._ Having someone to take care of him is something new. He and Johnny have traded those duties several times, and in Vietnam soldiers often had to take care of each other in dire moments. _Maybe Brice just wants to closeness, the intimacy. He’s lonely, and people aren’t made to be completely alone._ Chet’s pretty familiar with the feeling himself. He knows how it feels to be desperate for human contact in its simplest forms: sitting beside someone, being hugged, a hand on his arm, anything. His crew is, thankfully, very accommodating when it comes to his need for physical contact. _Brice probably doesn’t have that._

“Well,” Chet says after a minute, “better get goin’ before ya get cold feet.”

Brice kind of puffs up a bit, says, “I wouldn’t get cold feet. I promised to help, and I will.”

He stands, helps Chet up off the couch, and the two of them head for the bathroom.

“I think the easiest thing would be to draw a bath,” Brice says, “We can control the water that way and keep it off your cast more easily. What about your hair?”

“Yeah, it probably needs a wash.”

“We’ll do that after. Is that alright, Kelly?”

“S’pose so, yeah.”

It’s interesting to watch Brice take control of the situation, and soon enough, the tub is filled with hot water. Chet quickly strips down, at least as quickly as he can, not shy in the slightest. _Army helps ya get rid of that real quick._ A groan slips from his throat as he settles in the hot water, assisted by Brice. The water feels good… and it feels good to have someone to take care of him.

Brice starts in, gently washing Chet’s good arm and back with a soapy washcloth, rinsing away the soap with another. Chet lets his eyes slip shut, focusing on the feeling of the washcloth on his skin, the gentle circles and dripping water. It’s comforting. It’s relaxing. He lets out a quiet sigh, leaning into Brice’s touch.

“Don’t fall asleep, Chet. I’ll leave you in the tub,” Brice teases.

“Did you just make a joke, babe?”

“I did. I can make jokes, you know.”

“Never said ya couldn’t. Just never heard ya make one before, is all,” Chet replies.

“I can make jokes more often if you’d like.”

“Wouldn’t want it to lose its magic. Crack one in front of Johnny sometime. He’ll lose his mind, I guarantee it. Won’t know what hit him.”

He hears Brice give a little huff of laughter before replying, “Alright, Kelly, why don’t you sit on the edge of the tub so we can wash your legs.”

Brice helps him, making sure he doesn’t slip, getting him sat down. The air is cool on his wet skin, but it feels good. He makes no effort to take the washcloth from Brice, and Brice makes no effort to give it to him. _He’s enjoying this, too._ He scrubs gently at Chet’s legs, from calf to thigh, stopping at Chet’s groin. Chet half-wishes he wouldn’t, wonders what it would feel like for Brice to touch him there, pushes away the thought. It just doesn’t seem appealing; it never does. He washes himself.

Once that’s done, Brice drains the tub and dries Chet off with gentle efficiency, then directs him to sit on the floor so Brice can wash his hair over the side of the tub. He is as gentle with this as with everything else, fingers lightly scraping against Chet’s scalp. Chet lets his eyes slip shut at the sensation. _This feels so good._

“I’ll give ya two years to stop,” he mumbles teasingly.

“I think my fingers would cramp up… and I think you’re falling asleep, Chet.”

His voice is soft and soothing, the use of Chet’s name making his stomach give a happy flop. Chet just nuzzles back against Brice’s hands, hears Brice laugh quietly, smiles.

“Okay, I think I’m done. Let me help you up… perfect,” Brice says, “I think you ought to go to bed, Chet. You look tired.”

“Oh, I’m just relaxed,” Chet replies, “Never realized how tensed up I was over all this shit with my shoulder. Thank you, Craig.”

Color fills Brice’s cheeks, and he simply tells him, “Let’s get you into bed.”

He helps Chet into the bedroom, assists him in dressing, and gets him propped up against the pillows. When he moves to leave, Chet calls out, “Wait, Craig…”

“What is it?”

Now Chet’s face feels hot.

“Would-… Would you stay?”

Something flickers through those silvery eyes. Brice returns to Chet, sits beside him on the bed, quietly says, “I can’t. I work tomorrow, and I haven’t brought anything with me. My four days start after that, though. I promise to come back then, Chet.”

“Well… as long as ya promise,” Chet mumbles, settling against his pillows.

Brice smiles, a genuine smile, and then he does something unexpected. He leans in and presses a chaste kiss to Chet’s temple, near his eye. The simple gesture of comfort sets a lump in Chet’s throat as he leaves. _He promised to come back._

And sure enough, the day after next, Brice arrives with an overnight bag and a smile.


End file.
